


In the Morning

by drarryangels



Series: Drarry One-Shots [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depressed Harry, Depression, Drarry, Hope, M/M, Mild Trigger warning, One Shot, PTSD, Post War, Sad, Short, Supportive Draco, mental health, mild tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 09:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryangels/pseuds/drarryangels
Summary: Harry still suffers from depression, even after years attempting to treat it and fix it. Nothing has worked: not therapy, not Mind Healers, not Muggle medication. And no matter how hard he tries, Draco can't fix it either. But, in the end, maybe it doesn't need to be fixed.





	In the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is @drarryangels

“Harry?” Draco whispers groggily into the sheets. His skin crawls with the empty cold that always sneaks in when Harry pulls away from him in the middle of the night. 

There’s no response. 

“Harry?” Draco sits up and rubs his eyes, looking around for Harry. 

Draco breathes out in relief when the hunched silhouette of Harry comes into focus, half wrapped in blankets, and curling hair swarming around his face. Draco scoots across the bed and sits on his knees behind Harry. He reaches out a careful hand and gently sets it on Harry’s warm bare shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, wiping the back of his hand under his nose. 

A stone in Draco’s stomach drops and he pushes himself closer to Harry so he can see his face. It’s blotchy red and stained unevenly with tears and snot. 

“Can I hug you?” Draco asks quietly. Harry nods. 

Draco winds his arms under Harry’s and wraps his hands around his stomach, and pulls him back to lay against Draco. Harry tenses for a moment, and then relaxes, letting his head fall back into the bend that joins Draco’s neck and shoulder. The tips of Harry’s slightly sweat soaked hair jolt Draco into revolving waves of worry. Draco moves back, awkwardly pulling Harry with him, to prop his weight against the headboard. 

“Do you want to talk?” Draco kisses into Harry’s hair. 

Harry shifts, rolling to turn face first into Draco’s chest and twining his fingers into the bunches of Draco’s t-shirt. Harry sniffs, and Draco rests his head on the top of his head, just glad that Harry’s here. He’s with him, and he’s safe, and Draco’s holding onto him as tight as he can. 

The night is quiet, as it always is here in this corner of the city. London is a wonderful place, loud and busy, and bustling all over the nights. Draco loved the honking when he and Harry first moved in together, away from the towers, on the outskirts of the city to avoid the countless wizarding establishments peppered in throughout every day Muggle life. He had had a hard time adjusting to the smaller hustle here. Here, where it’s not so loud. Harry liked the quiet immediately. 

A crescent sliver of moon slides in through the open window and curtains, and rain peppers just barely inside the windowsill. The plant in the corner is mostly alive, and their half empty mugs of tea are still settled nearby, along with a tilted guitar, still out from its last use barely hours ago. Draco doesn’t play, but Harry does, and it makes Draco beamingly happy to see Harry smile when he strums it without any sensible melody. 

“I just… I don’t want to be numb anymore,” Harry’s voice melts into the soft curves of Draco’s collarbone. “I don’t want to spend every waking and sleeping moment trying to convince myself that I’m okay. I want to feel something other than tired.”

Draco’s eyelashes flutter closed and he holds Harry tighter. It isn’t fair. After everything, and Harry still holds on to every breath, every piece of guilt that the war dealt out. That Dumbledore and the Dursleys dealt out. It isn’t fair that the most beautiful, shining human in the world has to be the one buried in darkness. 

“We need to go back to the doctor,” Draco says to the empty night sounds. 

“I don’t want to,” Harry cries, moving his arms around Draco’s ribs and holding on. “They give me the pills and breathing exercises. It doesn’t work.”

“Mind Healer?” Draco already knows what the answer will be. They’ve had this conversation a million times over. Most days, Harry is perfectly okay. He’s quiet, and wonderful, and at peace. But then there are days, and then the following weeks, when the world crashes down on his head, and nothing can pull him out. 

Back when Harry and he first started dating seriously, Draco had tried to fix it. He thought that it was something that would go away after the shock of the war. He thought fancy dates and sex would send it away for good. But nothing made it go away. It wasn’t meant to go away, after all. The hurt was part of Harry, and always would be. 

“No Mind Healer,” Harry confirms. “Is there anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Draco says helplessly. He hates this. He doesn’t hate this part of Harry; there isn’t any part of Harry that he hates. But he hates how awful he feels when there’s nothing that he can do, nothing that he can say that can lift even a little bit of this off of Harry’s shoulders. “We’ll find something else. In the morning.”

Harry sighs and lifts his head to look up at Draco. “Is this ever going to stop?”

“We’ll find something in the morning,” Draco says, staring at Harry’s face. His handsome, golden, tired face. 

“I can make it ‘til morning,” Harry says sleepily, another tear skittering down his chin. 

“Not alone,” Draco says, sliding down and curling around Harry’s body next to him. “We’ll make it. In the morning.”


End file.
